Deal With It
by starvingartist114
Summary: Dean's having a tough time dealing with his father's death. Sam helps in the one way he can think of. Brotherly love, no slash. Oneshot


I own nothing relating to Supernatural…too bad 

This is a repost; I had computer issues. Reviews are, of course, always appreciated.

Warning: suicidal thoughts

Sam's hands were closed around the toasty mug of coffee; he smiled shyly at the pretty waitress bussing the table next to his. He noticed the way she looked up at him and the small grin she gave. Eyelashes fluttering, teeth blazing white, that face reminded him of someone…Meg, crap. His smile slid off his face as thoughts of Meg brought thoughts of his father, his father bringing thoughts of Dean. Dean, probably cleaning his guns in the room. Dean, killing everything around to dull the ache inside. Dean, wanting to give up his soul for his father. Sam swallowed convulsively and pushed his cup away. He had come here to get away from his brother. He didn't want to look at him, he couldn't, not without seeing the emotional war Dean was trying to hide. But failing to. Sam sighed, left the girl a pleasant tip, and moved out of the booth. He didn't want to, but he felt like he had to talk to Dean. Even though he risked an argument, a fight, a few punches even, Sam headed back to the room. Watching the demon torture his brother had been horrible, but watching Dean torture himself over their father's death…that was worse.

Dean's hands didn't even shake, not in the slightest. Twenty some years of being on the Winchester hunt kind of makes you comfortable with guns. Even when you're counting the pulse in your temple with the barrel. One, two, three. Man, Sam was going to be crushed when he found him. Dean felt sick just thinking about the way his brother would react. He'd probably blame himself, but that was not at all what Dean wanted. He didn't want Sam to feel like this was his fault, so he had written a note explaining why. Trying to tell Sammy why he had to go away. Why he had to force his way into hell. Why he couldn't let his father suffer alone, not when he was there because of Dean. If he couldn't save his father, he could at least share the pain. Eventually, Sam would be pissed, and then he would be alright. He was tough, he'd make it through. Dean knew Sam could hunt by himself. In fact, almost all of the other hunters preferred to fly solo, no reason why Sam couldn't. But at the same time, he wished they were all together again. Dad, Sam, all on the road, hunting the bad things, growing up warped, but being a family despite it. His hands were sweaty, and that annoyed him. He didn't really want to do this, not really. I mean, no one wants to die, but his dad…in hell, with who knows how many demons, half of which had been sent there by the Winchesters. That demon under the water tower, she was right. He wasn't supposed to be alive. His finger tightened, and despite his wanting to feel brave, he squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't hear the door.

Sam's voice was barely a whisper. "Dean" and they both froze. Dean panicked slightly, this wasn't how it was supposed to happen. He didn't want Sam to watch or try and stop him.

Sam was not ready for this. Ghosts, witches, demons yea, but not this. Stepping into the room, seeing Dean with the gun against his head, eyes closed, was like a nightmare that skipped through to reality. He knew his brother was hurting, but this, no, never this.

"Dean, talk to me, please. What's going on?" He tried moving closer to his brother but stopped when Dean put up his hand in a warning.

"Sammy, you were supposed to be going out."

The younger shrugged and whispered, "the coffee was weak." Sam leaned against the sink, bracing himself with the steadiness of the porcelain. He glanced at his brother. "Wanna tell me what you're thinking?"

Dean lowered the gun, but kept it comfortingly in his lap. "Look, I…it's hard to explain okay? And I didn't want you to see this."

"See what Dean? You'd rather me find you with half your face missing than watch you murder yourself?" Sam squatted down in front of his brother. "Dude please." His voice was shaky. Sam couldn't lose all his family. He thought about rushing his brother for the gun, but even if he succeeded, Dean would try again. If he really wanted to die, Sam wouldn't be able to stop him.

"Why?" There was a pause big enough to increase the tension drastically.

"Dad" Dean kept his finger on the trigger, an act that didn't go unnoticed by his brother.

"Dad? You want to kill yourself because Dad's dead?"

"No, not because he's dead, because I killed him."

"Dean, I thought we were over this!" Sam moved to sit by his brother on the edge of the tub. "You did not kill him, the demon did."

"Sam, I deserve to be dead. I was dead and because I'm alive, Dad's in hell." Sam clenched his fists. This was not even fair.

"So you're going to punish everyone around you because of a choice Dad made? A decision he made to save you!"

"Sam it's not like that."

"Then tell me what it's like Dean, cuz that's what it seems like from here."

Dean could tell his brother was getting pissed. "Look, it's just, it's not right that Dad is in hell, being tortured constantly because of me. He shouldn't be there at all."

"So what, you think you're gonna trade soul for soul, cuz I'm not an expert here, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way."

Dean's fist tightened around the gun. "I never said anything about trading." Sam stared at his brother, eye to eye with a look of complete anger.

"I can't believe you. You're going to end your life and go down and join Dad in hell! Dean that's crazy. Why should both of you suffer?" His brother didn't answer, and Sam was getting more and more frustrated. He just wasn't listening. "Look, I know you're in pain Dean, but this is not the way to deal with it okay? How pleased do you think Dad would be if he saw you waltz into Hell. Do you think that would comfort him? What do you think he'll say when he sees you, the person he gave his soul to save?"

It made sense, Dean admitted. But at the same time it rang false. There was so much inside. So much anger, pain, and he was the cause of it all. He deserved this. He deserved pain, death, hell, everything, just heap it on.

"Sammy, you'll never understand, and that's okay, because you don't have to." Dean's voice took on a finality that scared Sam worse than anything else in his life had. He could almost feel his brother's death in Dean's voice. "I just want you to remember everything Dad taught you ok? Sam, you have to keep on hunting things, people need you."

Sam panicked, this was not happening. He watched Dean raise the gun, and every instinct in his body told him to jump his brother, wrestle the gun from his grasp, and then beat him senseless with it.

Dean waved the gun towards the door. "Leave." Sam shook his head. "Sam, get in the car, drive across the country and find something to hunt." Sam tried so hard to fight the tears, but couldn't help them.

"Please Dean, don't."

"Sammy! Leave." Sam stood up and looked wildly around the room, something, anything… he had to help him. His eyes snapped to the knife on the bed, and he returned to the bathroom.

Dean sighed, "Sam, please, if you've ever listened to me, listen now…go away, just please leave."

Sam had returned to the tub and stood looking down at his brother. "Dean, I won't let you do this."

Dean had to grin. "What are you gonna do Sam, kill me?"

"No, I won't kill _you_." Dean looked up sharply and saw his brother with the knife on his own wrist.

"That's not funny." Sam drug the knife across his skin, not casket-deep, just enough to run red. "Sam, stop it!" Dean's voice was a clear-cut command, but his brother wasn't about to back down. He made another cut, deeper this time. Sam's blood ran to his elbow and fell in rain sized drops on the linoleum. The brothers stared at each other. Sam, hoping he could get his brother to see reason, and Dean, trying to decide whether Sam was serious.

"Sam, you don't want to die, now put the knife down."

"You're right, I don't want to die, but I will." He cut himself again, looking in Dean's eyes as he drug the blade against his flesh. His brother was beginning to believe him, and Sam could tell he might be getting through. He sat back down on the tub, leaning his mutilated arm on his brothers' leg, so he could get a good look. "Dean, I swear to you, if you kill yourself, at any time, I'll be right behind." Dean shook his head, this wasn't fair at all.

"Sam, you don't understand how much this hurts. I can't live with Dad's death all around me, knowing it was my fault."

"I understand perfectly. If Dad was your fault, then Jessica was mine. So, you die because of Dad, and I'll die because of Jessica. Is that what you want?"

Dean rolled his eyes; his brother could be such a pain sometimes.

"Seriously think about it, the demon killed Dad because of you, and the demon said he killed Jess because of me, that means we're in the same boat here Dean. You die, I die, that's how we're gonna play it okay?" No answer. "Fine, put your gun to your head. Let's do this now and not worry about waiting for it later. Let's go. You wanna go first or should I? You want to watch me die, is that it? Huh!" Sam was skirting the line of hysterics, and his voice was loaded with rage. He had dealt with these same exact feelings about Jess, and Dean had helped him get over them. Now it was his turn to help Dean.

The older Winchester had listened to his brother with tears pouring down his face, one slipping over the end of his nose. It made sense, it really did, and he wanted to put the gun down and get over this. He knew Sam wasn't responsible for Jessica's death, and he knew the same went for him. But Dad….Dad…his fault…everything. He thought about the last thing his father had said to him, about Sam. About protecting him. Sam…he would do it. That look in his younger brother's eye told Dean that he would keep pushing that blade into his wrist until it bit artery. Dean watched as the blood from his cuts crept towards the drain. This wasn't right, and he let the gun slip to the bottom of the tub, letting out a loud cry, pushing his fists into his eyes.

Sam was around Dean before he could think to protest, arms wrapping him tight. And Dean cried. He didn't care anymore; it just hurt too much to keep it inside.

Sam knew the meaning of relief then. "Dean, dude, this wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault. Dad, was not, your fault. Say it." His mouth, pressed into Sam's shoulder, muffled the words, but he repeated them. Maybe it wasn't really his fault.

He pulled back. "I know. The demon, he did this, everything." Sam nodded.

"Now are we gonna have put you on house arrest or something?"

Dean shook his head and smiled slowly. "Nah, I think I'll be alright."

"And you're sure? Cuz I wasn't kidding about any of that."

Dean glanced down at his brother's arm. The bleeding had attempted to stop for the moment but angry scars would always be there. "I know you weren't. But I'll be okay."

Dean missed his father, so much it was impossible to function at times. But it wasn't his fault. He thought, maybe if he said it enough, he might believe it someday. Sam was searching for the bandages in the wrong place.

"They're in the red bag. And dude, if you got blood on my shirt…"


End file.
